


Correspondence Course

by immoral_crow



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Epistolary, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur likes Eames; Eames likes Arthur, but does he like his secret admirer more? A story told through letters, emails, and action scenes, featuring theft, dreamcrime, snowglobes, and surprise dinosaurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Correspondence Course

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from LJ from many years ago.

There was, in Eames’s considered opinion, too much fuss made about birthdays. They aged one horribly, and besides, when you changed identities more often than you changed clothes the idea that you had a fixed date of birth became somewhat absurd. 

The simplest solution he found was to pretend they didn’t happen. What little family he had left had stopped bothering with cards and presents years ago, and a career forged in dreamsharing and crime meant there were no office birthday pools to contend with. 

This year there wasn’t even the risk of a team member finding out. Eames was between jobs and enjoying an Indian summer in Edinburgh. He wouldn’t choose to be there in August of course (perish the thought), but September was beautiful, and the successful completion of one job and the lull before the next could not have been better timed. 

It came as something of a surprise, therefore, when he returned to his flat, newspaper tucked under his arm, to find a present, beautifully wrapped and sitting on the kitchen table. 

The flat was still locked, the security system still in place; nothing appeared tampered with. The only thing that was different was a large square package, covered in metallic pink paper and with a filmy, silver ribbon tied around it, that was sitting next to his breakfast teacup and yesterday’s Times crossword. 

Oh, and there was an envelope on top. 

Deciding that he would be dead by now had that been his intruder’s intention, Eames opened the envelope.

I saw this and thought of you.  
Happy birthday. 

Eames put the letter down on the table and looked at the present. Prudence suggested that he ignore it; safety that he refrain from opening it. Eames ignored both and pulled off the wrapping.

It wasn’t a bomb; it wasn’t any sort of threat. Instead, it was Sargent’s portrait of Lady Agnew of Lochnaw. 

Eames stared at it. He’d known it had been stolen; had wondered if he’d known whoever had stolen it. Hell, it was his favourite painting – he’d considered stealing it himself more than once, but there had never been a commission and it just wasn’t sporting to steal for oneself. And now...

Eames looked at the letter once more for a hint of who could have sent it, but there was nothing he’d missed before, so he folded it up and tucked it into his pocket before devoting himself to the pleasurable task of deciding where to hang the painting. 

Whoever this was from, they had certainly succeeded in capturing his attention. 

oOo

5 October, 2011, 13.42  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Job offer

Eames

I hear you are unemployed at present. 

If you are interested, there is a job in Italy at the end of the month. Usual fee. Low risk. Let me know if you are interested.

Arthur

PS Happy birthday for last month. I hope you had a good day.

 

5 October, 2011, 18.37  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Resting, not unemployed

Darling!

You really must tell me how you managed to track down this email address. I’ve had it less than 24 hours, and only to get a new tie. Ebay is so picky about these things. 

Unemployed is such a strong word. I prefer ‘resting.’ Much more pleasant. I would appreciate the job though – idle hands and all that. Please do say it’s something interesting? 

I await your answer with baited breath. 

Yours,

Eames

PS Yes. It was surprisingly pleasant. Why am I not surprised you know when it is? 

 

6 October, 2011, 01.19  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You tell yourself that

Glad to hear you’re on board. It should be right up your street. I’ll brief you when you get here, but there are certain politicians and lawyers who are interested in what some young ladies may or may not remember from a party. 

Bunga bunga indeed. 

Arthur

PS It was hardly a challenge. Do you remember Finland in 2008? I still can’t drink schnapps. 

 

7 October, 2011, 11.34  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: I could be insulted here you know

Flight tickets arrived today. Your efficiency is, as ever, dazzling. 

Your memory, however, is flawed. It was definitely mesimarja we were drinking in 2008.

I look forward to seeing you. I presume you’ll be fresh from Milan and shall occupy my remaining hours of leisure by picturing your shopping spree. 

Eames

PS Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the question of how you found my email, darling. 

 

7 October, 2011, 13.30  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: But you won’t

I’ll see you at the airport, Mr Eames.

Arthur

PS Some answers are so obvious it would be insulting to answer them. 

oOo

Arthur was as good as his word. The job _was_ interesting. For a start, Eames had never been involved in an armed police chase where both parties were on bicycles before. Nor had he ever had to go undercover in a convent. It was much less titillating than he had anticipated, but having Arthur dressed as a priest so they could debrief in the confessional made up for it. A bit.

But the extraction went well; better than well. The prosecution lawyers were pleased, there was a bonus, and for once they could clean down their workspace without the running and hiding that was usually inevitable. 

Still, all this aside, Eames felt grubby, and on their last day together he was frowning slightly as he entered the room. 

It took him a moment to see the _Speculatius_ on the table. He broke a corner of the gingerbread off and chewed speculatively, turning to nod at Arthur when he came in. 

‘St Nicholas Day?’ Arthur said, smiling slightly. ‘I didn’t know you celebrated that in England.’ 

‘We don’t.’ Eames offered him the cookie, not in the least surprised when Arthur broke himself off a piece. Arthur’s sweet-tooth was a poorly kept secret after all. ‘I didn’t buy it. I think my secret admirer caught up with me.’ 

Arthur laughed. ‘She didn’t,’ he said. ‘That’s from me. I saw you looking at them in the shop window the other evening and thought you would enjoy one.’ He passed the _Speculatius_ back to Eames and grinned. ‘You’ll have to tell me more about this _secret admirer_ though.’

‘Oh, there’s nothing to tell really,’ Eames said, going to the kitchenette to get the kettle on. Tea was a priority that shouldn’t be overlooked, after all. ‘I was given a painting for my birthday from an anonymous benefactor, and I just thought this might be another of his works.’ 

‘Huh.’ Arthur shook his head at the mug Eames gestured with and started grinding beans for the stove top coffee maker. ‘And you’ve no idea who gave it to you?’

‘None,’ Eames said happily. ‘There was a note, but no clues.’

‘It wasn’t signed?’

‘No.’

‘Huh,’ Arthur said again. ‘Interesting. Now, what should we do about disposing of the left over props?’

Eames turned to look at the giant pile of snow globes of St Peter’s and wondered absently how his life had come to this. 

oOo

 

24 December, 2011, 19.02  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Season’s greetings

Happy Christmas, Mr Eames. 

I hope you have a good day.

Arthur

 

24 December, 2011, 19.03  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: If you say so

Arthur!

What a pleasant surprise. Are you starting your new year’s resolutions early (one year you will learn to loosen up – it’s bound to happen) or do you have a job for me? One that starts this evening for preference.

Eames

 

24 December, 2011, 19.06  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I never took you for a Grinch

A reply within a minute and a plea for a job? 

Who are you? And what have you done to Eames?

 

24 December, 2011, 19.07  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Very funny. I am laughing on the inside.

If you must know, I am at home with my parents. 

Apparently being a master criminal in my ~~mid~~ early thirties doesn’t mean I get to be an adult in the eyes of my family. 

 

24 December, 2011, 19.08  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Better than crying?

Oh, God. You’re hiding in your bedroom with your laptop and a bottle of whiskey, aren’t you?

 

24 December, 2011, 19.09  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: You’re going to make me admit this, aren’t you?

I might be?

 

24 December, 2011, 19.10  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Yes.

…

 

Can’t type. Laughing too hard. 

 

24 December, 2011, 19.12  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: You are a bastard and I never liked you anyway

Fine. Go ahead. Huck it up at my expense. 

I don’t have to sit here emailing you, you know.

 

24 December, 2011, 19.13  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: We both know that’s a lie

No, you don’t. Bite the bullet, Eames. Go down and talk to your family. 

Just… bring the whiskey with you ;op

 

24 December, 2011, 19.14  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Damn you for being right.

Smugness is not an attractive characteristic, darling. Not even on you. 

If there are holiday photos though I will hunt you down.

PS Happy Christmas.

 

25 December, 2011, 00.07  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: deck teh haslls

Darling. You have the best idess. But now the whiskey is all drunk and so am i. you would have been better offering me that job you know. 

Danny 

 

25 December, 2011, 00.08  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You really are drunk, aren’t you Danny?

You know your mother will want help with the sprouts in the morning. Go to sleep, Mr Eames.

Arthur

oOo

The sprouts were the least of it. 

There was church, and peeling the spuds, and his sister’s newfound love of knitting exemplified by a particularly hideous jumper that he was forced to wear, and his mother’s disapproving look at his slightly bleary eyes, and his father hiding in the shed, and, worst of all, there was Aunty Peg. 

Eames liked to think of himself as a intimidating man, but even he knew that he couldn’t hold a candle to Aunty Peg. Not on his most frightening day when he was armed to the teeth and with Arthur beside him. 

She managed to combine his own understanding of human nature with Arthur’s acid wit and Cobb’s tactlessness and by the end of lunch Eames had had his dress sense, his supposed job (international intellectual property law specialist), and his failure to get married and keep in touch with his parents thoroughly dissected. 

Thank god for the washing up. It won him brownie points with his mum, kept him out of the way until Aunty Peg had finished drinking herself into a stupor, and, best of all, allowed him to get so thoroughly splashed that he could escape to the sanctuary of his room for some blessed respite. 

He was so busy pulling the hideous jumper over his head that he didn’t notice the letter lying on his bed at first. When it caught his attention, he grabbed it immediately and sank to the floor, leaving the jumper discarded and forgotten.

The handwriting was instantly familiar from the birthday note, still folded in his wallet, and he was aware of an unusual excitement in the pit of his stomach as he settled down to read.

Eames  
I hope you will forgive the lack of a present. I had intended to procure a little something, but time got away from me. 

Did you like your birthday present? Sadly, I am unlikely to ever find out. I forgot to sign my name to the note – an honest mistake – and now I can’t bring myself to unmask. The idea of being able to send anonymous letters is curiously attractive. 

Anyway, I like to imagine the picture in your apartment. In your bedroom, maybe, where she can watch over your sleep as I can’t. There is something about her tranquillity, the directness of her gaze, that reminds me irresistibly of you. She seems as if she could steal the heart from your chest without you noticing or caring. 

I would have liked to see her again, to have left this note while you slept by her. It would have been more fitting than breaking into your parents’ home, but needs must…

You always struck me as someone who would love Christmas, and I suppose there is something inevitable about you spending it here. I saw you with your sister and niece the other day. You weren’t doing anything special, just shopping, distracting her from a tantrum while your sister tried on shoes. It was oddly incongruous – seeing you with a child, with your family. Men in our line of work don’t get opportunities like these often.

So, no gift, no signature – I’m not sure why I am even writing this. Happy Christmas, though. Enjoy your day. 

x

Eames reread the letter three times before his sister called him. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the bottom of his bag before he went downstairs. Suddenly Christmas at home didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

oOo

He retreated to Mombasa in January. He couldn’t face the cold of an Edinburgh winter, and the relaxed warmth of Africa and Yusuf’s accepting company felt like the perfect solution. 

Yusuf, of course, knew there was something happening within the first twenty minutes, and it took him less than an hour to get the full story from Eames. 

It took him a further fifty minutes to stop laughing, but Eames had never been a man to bear a grudge. 

Okay. He did. A bit. But no one – least of all Yusuf – could prove the fire in the lab was anything other than an accident. 

oOo

11 January, 2012, 14.05  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Job

Eames

Rumour has it you are in Mombasa, so I presume you are ready for a job.

Afghanistan. February. Likely to be messier than last time.

In?

Arthur

 

13 January, 2012, 16.30  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Why yes, I am well, thank you. How are you?

Arthur

Sounds good. No doubt you will brief me when I get there, but is there any information you would care to share now?

I will deny it if you ever tell anyone, but it would be a relief to go somewhere cooler for a while.

Yours, as ever

Eames

 

14 January, 2012, 19.27  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I thought we were beyond pleasantries? 

Glad you’re on board. No details. Am still sussing out the lie of the land myself. Will mail you tickets when I am sure of anything.

Arthur

PS Ariadne is also on this one. Already have a local chemist lined up or would suggest you invite Yusuf. 

 

15 January, 2012, 01.47  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: A little politeness never killed anyone

Yusuf wouldn’t come at the moment. Something to do with kittens – I hesitate to question too closely. 

Is there anything I should prepare in advance? 

Eames

 

29 January, 2012, 09.15  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: There must be some reason for the radio silence

Arthur?

 

02 February, 2012, 09.15  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: This isn’t funny

Are you okay?

 

04 February, 2012, 07.13  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Why, Eames. Anyone would think you cared.

Small hitch in the planning. Tickets will be with you by close of play today. 

If you want my advice, you’ll arrive armed for bear.

I’ll see you at the airport.

Arthur

PS Don’t overreact when you get here. They are superficial wounds. 

 

04 February, 2012, 13.31  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Are you sure about this job?

None of this sounds promising.

I will see you on the 15th. Do try to stay out of trouble until I get there.

 

oOo

The day before he left, there was a package in Eames’s mailbox. 

This would have given him some pause, except he knew the writing on the envelope as well as he recognised his own by now. Rereading the notes over and over again would have that effect; Eames’s considerable skill in memorising handwriting hardly mattered at all. 

He opened the letter before the package.

Eames  
Happy Valentines. 

I choose to believe you would prefer this to hearts and flowers. 

He tore open the plain brown wrapping and stopped dead in his tracks.

Sitting in his hand, as if it were a usual thing, was a first edition of _For Whom The Bell Tolls_. 

oOo

In the end, there was no time to read it. Duty and Arthur called, but Eames made sure the book was wrapped securely in his hand luggage when he packed, and though he would deny it to the grave, he smiled for most of the flight to Kandahar. 

oOo

Afghanistan was a nightmare. 

Eames hadn’t liked it when he was in the army and he liked it even less now. 

He’d started to think he might never be warm again; the cold was sinking into his bones and making him uncharacteristically snappy. 

The job itself did nothing to lift his mood. Extracting information about the Taliban from a drug lord might be laudable, but it was bloody difficult work; the challenges of compiling information was only matched by the danger the whole team faced in unearthing it. 

They had set up a base of operations in Kabul, but in a country the size of Afghanistan the team spent more time apart than together following their various leads. 

Eames was back before the others this time and had abandoned the pretence of work in favour of curling in a blanket and reading the Hemingway. He’d read it before, of course, but there was something almost decadent to have a first edition in his hands, and it was doing an admirable job of distracting him from his discomfort. 

He might have dozed slightly, but he woke with a shock when the door opened. Arthur stood in the doorway, his eyebrow quirked and his hands full of bags, until Eames lowered his gun and grunted a welcome. 

‘You’re back early.’ Arthur’s voice was muffled by his scarf as he started unloading the bags onto the table. Eames snorted and rearranged his blanket cocoon. 

‘Things became a little fraught. I thought it best to retreat while I still could.’ 

‘Wise.’ Arthur continued unpacking, and Eames, curiosity being his besetting sin, wriggled round to be able to watch more easily. 

‘What’s that?’ Arthur asked, nodding towards the book in Eames’s hand, and Eames glanced down at it. 

‘A present,’ he said, holding it up for observation. ‘What’s that?’

Arthur looked down at the parcel on the table, and reached up to pull his scarf free from his mouth.

‘A kettle,’ he said. 

Eames sat up straight in the chair, his book now forgotten.

‘A kettle? You bought us a kettle?’

Arthur smiled. ‘No. I bought _you_ a kettle. I bought _us_ a respite from your bad temper.’ 

‘Your sharp words have lost their power to wound me, darling.’ Eames was out of the chair and unpacking the kettle before he noticed he had moved. ‘You bought me a kettle, which means _tea_.’ 

Arthur watched him running water and getting the tea on, not bothering to hide his amusement. 

‘It was worth it,’ he said. 

oOo

the ides of March

Eames  
Did you enjoy the book? I had a picture you in my mind when I obtained it. I could imagine you, warm and relaxed in your African spring, reading it on your veranda. It was one of the images that made the cold of winter bearable; imagining you warm and happy.

Anonymity is so safe and comfortable, isn’t it? I find myself confessing things to the blank page that I never could if you were in the room, even if I can imagine the look on your face perfectly.

Here’s a secret: I miss you when I am not with you. We don’t see each other often, but you seem to be one of the lynch pins my life is built around. Even when we are apart I find myself thinking of you – how you would respond to my ideas, what you would say about my plans. Here’s another secret: my best work has been born of conversations with you, either in reality or in my dreams. 

Enough. There’s a limit to what I can share even through letters. I wanted you to know that I am about to become busy, and I may not be in touch for a little while. I doubt you will be far from my thoughts though.

Yours, as ever  
x

Eames had suspected that his mystery writer knew him personally, but this was the first confirmation. He tucked the letter away safely in his breast pocket, and hurried to the team briefing, promising himself that he would decipher the identity of this man as soon as he had the time to do so.

oOo

27 March, 2012, 03.41  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: The tireder I am, the less I sleep

How are things going there? Have Ariadne and Abbas got back yet? 

How did your research go?

Eames

 

27 March, 2012, 04.12  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You and me both

As well as can be expected. They’re due back tomorrow. 

How are things in Pakistan? 

Arthur

 

27 March, 2012, 04.15  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Sleeping pills would be a bad idea

Not bad. I’ll brief you when I get back. I’ve made some useful contacts at least. 

I’m missing my kettle though. 

 

27 March, 2012, 04.17  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Fatal. I’m sure you can come up with another way to relax. You have a free hand, after all

Glad to hear it. We need as many advantages as we can with this job.

I’ve got to admit, Eames, that kettle is proving more useful than I expected. 

 

27 March, 2012, 04.18  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Dammit

I can hear you being smug from here. 

 

27 March, 2012, 09.30  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: I took your advice

Though I was shocked to hear you suggest it. 

And I would never be smug – I wouldn’t want to risk damaging your relationship with the kettle. 

 

27 March, 2012, 09.31  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Good for you. 

I have never been this cold or tired. 

Remind me next time I suggest a job here – just… no. 

 

27 March, 2012, 09.35  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: Well, there’s nothing stopping you from trying it

When are Ariadne and Abbas due back?

 

27 March, 2012, 09.37  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: It’s the office, Eames

Two hours or so.

 

27 March, 2012, 09.35  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: I fail to see your point

Plenty of time. Get under a blanket on the sofa, get yourself… relaxed and take a nap. 

You’ll be more effective for it. 

 

27 March, 2012, 15.52  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I can’t believe I did that

Or that it worked. 

You’re a bad influence, Eames. 

 

27 March, 2012, 23.11  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Re: But it worked though

I think I’ve got everything I need here. I should be back in the next couple of days. Please try not to shoot me when I get in. 

 

27 March, 2012, 23.31  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I make no promises

I’ll get the kettle on for you. 

oOo

The job was hideous, but Eames found comfort where he could. Ariadne was always fun, and Eames took a quiet pleasure in seeing how she developed. Abbas was no Yusuf, but he had an acerbic sense of humour. And it was always good working with Arthur. He would hesitate to call them friends – neither of them were prone to over-sharing – but they had worked together for years now, and apart from the frisson of sexual tension that simmered between them on occasion, Eames trusted him, and liked him more than any other colleague he’d worked with. 

It was easy to relax with him. Yes, he took a seemingly malicious delight in provoking Eames, but Eames could give as good as he got, and there was never any doubt in his mind, no matter what they said to each other, that Arthur had his back. 

And something had changed on this job. Maybe it was because they had known each other so long, or because they were the unit that held this team together – maybe it was that they were working in closer proximity, and without Dom Cobb, for longer than they ever had before, but they felt comfortable together. Not friends, not yet, but on a road that led there.

‘Godammit, Eames.’ 

Not that this had mellowed Arthur at all, Eames thought, looking up at Arthur’s scowling face. But sharing a tent with someone would always be slightly odd. 

‘Seriously.’ Arthur’s voice was tight with frustration. ‘This job is bad enough without having to contend with your laundry.’ 

‘There’s nowhere else to dry it.’ Eames swung himself off his camp-bed and jostled Arthur with his shoulder. ‘And we don’t all emerge from our sleeping bags perfectly pressed and ready to face the day.’

Arthur huffed a laugh, his tension easing. Arthur’s inability to function in the mornings without two coffees was a source of endless amusement to Eames. Without the distance offered by separate hotel rooms (and usually separate hotels) he’d had ample opportunity to observe Arthur in the mornings for the first time, and Arthur in the mornings was a grumpy, rumpled, completely _charming_ thing with bed-head and mismatched bed-clothes. 

‘Next time, pack enough clean clothes to bring with you.’

Eames laughed. 

‘I’ll bear your words of wisdom in mind,’ he said, and stretched. ‘At least we’ll be done here this week.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur said, throwing himself down on his camp-bed. ‘And the worst of it is done, anyway.’

Which was, of course, when it all went to hell. 

oOo

25 April, 2012, 12.03  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Where are you, Arthur?

For fuck’s sake – there’s no way those bastards could have captured you. 

 

26 April, 2012, 07.36  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Fuck it. I can be wrong

Okay. Maybe they could. But you’ll get out. I’ve got Ariadne and Abbas back to base. I’ll give you a day to get in touch and then I’m coming back for you. 

 

27 April, 2012, 19.00  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com   
Subject: Right

I’ve given you long enough, I’m coming after you. 

~~Just keep yourself safe till I get there~~

In the likely event that you get free before I find you, I have that mobile with me. You know the number. 

oOo

In the end, it took nearly a week before Eames managed to locate Arthur. 

It was galling; they’d faced down opposing teams, law enforcement agencies… even assassins before, and in the end they’d been taken down by a group of opportunists who saw them as an easy hostage-shaped paycheque. 

At least Eames had managed to get Ariadne and Abbas to safety – Arthur had bought them the time – but when Eames had gone back, expecting to find Arthur cleaning his gun in the middle of a pile of dead bodies… he hadn’t. There’d been plenty of bodies, but not enough, and no Arthur. 

But now he had his location and he was armed for fucking _bear_. No one took one of his team mates. Not on his watch. 

He was crouching in the undergrowth, plotting how best to get into the compound, when the gunfire started. Time to wing it, he decided, and lobbed a grenade over the wall before darting in through the blown-out doors. 

He took out the guards at the doors (distracted – all too easy) and edged down the hallway, ready to shoot anything that mov-

‘For fuck’s sake.’ Arthur’s voice was raw. ‘You took your fucking time, Eames.’

‘Arthur!’ It was relief, or battle madness, or maybe Eames was just losing his mind, but he pulled Arthur into a rough embrace. Arthur held himself rigid, but he put his arms around Eames and Eames breathed in the smell of gunsmoke, blood, and sweat, and felt like he could relax again for the first time in weeks. 

‘C’mon, asshole.’ Arthur pulled away, but his voice was almost fond. ‘We’re not out of the woods yet, and I would kill for a fucking shower.’ 

oOo

Arthur spent the best part of an hour in the shower when they got back to what passed for civilisation these days, and Eames was still so relieved to have him back that he didn’t even comment. Instead, he left Arthur some clean clothes outside the door and gave him a cup of hot, sweet tea when he finally emerged.

It took a heroic effort not to mention Arthur’s hair, loose and curling as it dried, but Eames managed. 

The rest of the job went fine. No more mishaps, no more crises. The extraction gave them all the information they needed, their contact was pleased, the money went into the bank as planned, and Arthur bid Eames a curt farewell in the departure lounge at Kabul airport. 

‘Where are you headed?’ Eames asked. Arthur was looking drawn, and Eames would own to feeling concern. 

For a moment Arthur just looked at him, and Eames steeled himself for the brush-off he was sure would follow, but then Arthur relaxed. 

‘Prague,’ he said. ‘At first anyway. I might go somewhere warm after that though.’ 

Eames offered his hand, and Arthur shook it.

‘Keep in touch then,’ he said. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

Arthur nodded and turned. Eames watched the back of his head until he lost it in the throng of the crowd boarding the plane. 

oOo

It was only when he was on his own flight that Eames remembered his mystery writer.

The past few months hadn’t given him the leisure to think about his correspondent. Instead he’s been caught up in Arthur – beautiful, determined Arthur… Eames shook his head. Arthur, who didn’t care about Eames as more than a colleague and maybe a friend. Arthur who would never see Eames as any more than that. 

Even if they did become friends, Arthur would never understand Eames the way the writer did – would probably never want to. 

Eames frowned. It had been mid-March when he had last received a letter, and though the letter writer had said he would be busy for a while there was a lot that could happen in three months. Resolutely putting Arthur from his thoughts, Eames focused on his writer, and wondered when he would get the next letter. 

oOo

When Eames got back to Mombasa there was a letter waiting for him. It was postmarked Paris, but that meant nothing. Eames was confident that the writer was in dreamshare, and Paris was a hub for their type. 

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief as he settled down to read.

Eames  
It’s been a while. I know I said I’d be busy, but I hadn’t anticipated things could go so badly wrong so quickly. Perils of our line of work though. 

You knew we worked together, right? You’re many things, Eames, but stupid has never been one of them, for all that you let people underestimate you. 

There have been jobs we’ve worked together, where I will wonder what I see in you, and then you will turn around and say something so brilliant, so incisive, that it nearly takes my breath away. 

I remember back at the start, when we first met, when I couldn’t understand where your reputation had come from. You were just a lecherous ex-pat, too committed to your idiosyncratic sense of style. And then you stood up in front of the team, and said... well. I can’t say that, can I? It would blow my cover. But it was brilliant - it changed the way I saw the job altogether, and I remember realising that you were intelligent - that your reputation wasn’t just smoke and mirrors. 

And once I’d seen it, I couldn’t unsee it. The flashes of your wit, the ideas you came up with - and you always do it so unassumingly. It used to make me so angry - that you would let the credit for your ideas go to other people... and then I saw why you did it. I saw how you used people’s perceptions to keep yourself safe. I saw how useful it was when people underestimated you. I saw, and I admired it - I admired _you_. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. You wear identity so lightly - how could I ever assume that the face you portray on the job is any different? And I started to understand how you manage to pull off your cons so successfully. Your commitment to the smallest details - it’s like you become the person you want to be, and that? That became a challenge for me. I wanted to peel you apart. To find out who you are under all those assumed personas. 

It’s ironic that I am getting closest now that I can’t do anything about it, isn’t it? Because you’d tell me now, Eames. Wouldn’t you? If I asked, you would let me start to strip away all those impermanent things until I could see the core of you. 

This anonymity is a very mixed blessing.

x

21 June, 2012, 15.42  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Prague

Eames

Thank god that’s over. The money should be in your account by now - do try not to blow it all in one sitting.

Arthur

 

22 June, 2012, 09.12  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: For god’s sake darling - go somewhere warm

You have so few pleasures in life, Arthur - it would be a crying shame if I took away your main pastime. You do so enjoy deploring my conduct. 

 

22 June, 2012, 10.15  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Just occasionally your advice is worth listening to

You know that’s nonsense, Eames. 

I’m heading to Barbados. You know how to get hold of me if you want me. 

 

24 June, 2012, 17.27  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You should admit that more often

Enjoy yourself, Arthur.

It’s been quite the year, hasn’t it?

 

29 June, 2012, 18.30  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Your ego is big enough already

Eames, you have no idea at all. 

 

oOo

It wasn’t often that Eames let himself relax completely, but he felt he deserved it. He idly considered joining Arthur in Barbados; he gave significantly more thought to tracking down his mystery correspondent. 

In the end he did neither, and wound down instead. His tan returned and he put back on the ten pounds he had lost on the job. He reread his last letter until it was creased and every word was committed to his memory. He was... happy - not something that he said often, but he was. 

Arthur emailed infrequently; inconsequential things like the temperature or the price of pina coladas, and Eames responded by sending recipes and book reviews. The most exciting thing that happened during the whole of July was when he managed to Rick-Roll Arthur, and he spent two days laughing at Arthur’s outraged response.

It wouldn’t last - there would be another job soon enough, and Eames would welcome it with open arms, but for now he was content. 

oOo

1 August, 2012, 18.26  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Big news

Dom wants to get back in the business. I’ve arranged a job. Want in on it?

 

1 August, 2012, 18.54  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: That’s predictable - not big news

Of course. I am presuming it’s legal? And a reunion?

 

1 August, 2012, 21.44  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I know

Right on all counts. Would you ask Yusuf if he’s available?

 

2 August, 2012, 02.10  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: The things I do for you, darling

Yusuf is in. I will await the details. 

 

2 August, 2012, 12.20  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: What happe... No. I don’t want to know, do I?

It will be good to work with you again, Eames.

Hopefully this time the job will be a little easier...

 

2 August, 2012, 21.24  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You really, really don’t

You and me both, darling. 

oOo

‘Eames!’ Dom bounded across the warehouse towards Eames and gripped his arm. ‘It’s good to have you on board.’

Eames laughed. Dom was bubbling with barely suppressed excitement, and was shaking his hand with unfeigned enthusiasm. 

‘It’s good to see you too, Dom,’ he said, finally managing to pull away. ‘Are the others here yet?’

‘Only Arthur,’ Dom said, gesturing to where Arthur was watching them, his lips quirked in amusement. ‘Ariadne has gone to collect Yusuf from the airport, but they’ll be back any minute.’ 

He ushered Eames into the room. Eames dropped his bag onto a seat and nodded to Arthur. 

‘What do I need to know, then?’ he asked, but Dom stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. 

‘We’ll do the briefing when the others get here,’ he said. ‘Catch up with Arthur. Have a cup of tea!’ He headed towards the kitchenette. ‘We have a kettle and everything for you...’ His voice trailed off and he popped his head back out to where Eames was smirking at Arthur (the kettle could only have come from one man, after all). ‘I forgot,’ Dom added, taking an envelope from his pocket and waving it at Eames. ‘This arrived for you earlier.’ 

Eames was at his side in two quick steps. 

‘Thank you, Dom,’ he said, squashing down the ridiculous terror he felt at the implications of Cobb having his letter. ‘I’ll read that now.’

Eames

I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the past few weeks. It’s probably safe to tell you I haven’t seen you in that time – with you off the grid I doubt the confession narrows me down much, does it? 

I saw a shirt here, one that would suit you so perfectly. I considered buying it, I stood there for... it must have been ten minutes, thinking of how you would look in it, thinking of how it would cover your chest. The fabric was so soft, almost sheer, and I know you’d have worn it with the top buttons open so I could see your chest hair, the soft vulnerability of your suprasternal notch. 

I didn’t get it in the end. I was going to – was almost at the counter – when I realised how it would emphasise your nipples. God, Eames. If you only knew the percentage of jobs we’ve worked together where I have had to force myself not to just stare at your nipples... Well, anyway, this shirt would have been too much temptation for me. 

Would you have liked that though? Would you welcome my hands on your body? And are your nipples as sensitive as they look? They peak so easily – a chilly room, the draft from a door, any pressure on them at all... You have no idea what a temptation they are. I could walk up behind you when you are making one of your interminable cups of tea, place your hands on the counter, and run my fingers over your chest. You’d get hard, wouldn’t you, Eames? You’d be so hard, trembling and begging for more, and you’d be so beautiful – but I wouldn’t give it to you. I would just keep petting and pinching until you came like that, until you sagged back onto me, completely relaxed, and I could kiss you...

Enough? Yeah. As I said before, anonymity has its pleasures as well as it’s price.

x

‘Quite alright there, Eames?’ Ariadne’s voice cut through the pleasant haze that surrounded Eames, and he shifted, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the visceral reaction the letter had provoked.

‘Ariadne!’ He smiled up at her, although he had no intention of moving – not quite yet at any rate. ‘How lovely to see you again! And Yusuf,’ he tipped his head towards him. ‘It feels like it were only last week that we were drinking together, my friend.’ 

‘It was,’ Yusuf said, with that too bright smile of his. ‘So you have another letter, do you? What does this one say?’

‘Another letter?’ Ariadne sounded a little too pleased at this information. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Ah well...’ Yusuf turned to Ariadne and looped his arm round her shoulders, seemingly oblivious of the death-glares that Eames was shooting him. ‘Our Mr Eames here has got himself a _secret admirer_ , no less. One who sends him letters and gifts and...’

‘Or it could be from his mother,’ Arthur said, walking back into the room and putting a cup of tea down by Eames’s hand. ‘Ariadne, can you get Yusuf settled in? I know Dom wants to get the briefing done so we can have some sort of reunion thing this evening.’ His tone made it perfectly clear what he thought of reunions and enforced fun, but Ariadne just grinned at him and led Yusuf by the hand towards the bedrooms.

‘Thanks,’ Eames said, and Arthur smiled at him. 

‘Think nothing of it,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got to keep these whippersnappers in line after all. Can’t have them subverting our authority this early in the game, or the job will be hell.’

‘Too true,’ Eames said, as he folded the letter away, and picked up his tea. 

oOo

19 August, 2012, 10.02  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: My head

Why did we go out drinking after the meal?

 

19 August, 2012, 10.04  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Your head? What about mine?

The drinking I don’t mind about. I am slightly concerned that Ariadne has footage of the karaoke though...

 

19 August, 2012, 10.05  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Oh god – today is just going to get worse, isn’t it?

I had blessedly forgotten the karaoke. Why did you have to remind me?

 

19 August, 2012, 10.10  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Like sliding downhill into a cactus field

Because I didn’t want to end up as a Youtube sensation, and I presumed you didn’t either. 

You keep telling me what a good thief you are, Eames. Time to put your money where your mouth is. 

 

19 August, 2012, 10.24  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: And to think I ever accused you of being unimaginative

I knew I would get praise from you if only I waited long enough.

Done and deleted. 

 

19 August, 2012, 10.25  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: What makes you think I wasn’t drawing from life?

You copied mine didn’t you? Goddamit, Eames. 

What’s it worth to get that back? 

 

19 August, 2012, 10.26  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Oh this I have to find out about...

Dinner, Friday – and the full story about the hill and the cacti. 

 

19 August, 2012, 10.28  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I feel I’ve been suckered into this...

Done. 

oOo

Cobb was just as brilliant and frustrating as ever; working on the right side of the law for an A-list director who wanted ‘insight into his process’ didn’t change a thing. Eames couldn’t even complain about the job – it was interesting. Extracting multiple times from a mark who was also your employer gave rise to a whole new set of challenges, this time without the risk of facing down armed bodyguards in the wake of the job. 

He wouldn’t want to do this forever – Eames was, by his very nature, a mercurial creature, and he thrived on the thrill of danger in his work – but he would be forced to admit that this was _fun_. He did admit it, in fact, to Arthur as they were sitting down to dinner on Friday. 

Eames hadn’t pushed his luck – he’d chosen a small middle-eastern place where the food was excellent and the atmosphere was laid-back. They ordered the mezze and mint tea, and by the time the tea arrived Arthur had nearly finished teasing Eames about his nostalgic connection to the team. 

‘You say all these words,’ Eames said, ‘yet it was you who talked me into this. Tell me, Arthur, are you very sure it isn’t you who’s looking for a surrogate family?’

‘Quite sure, thank you,’ Arthur said, scooping hummus onto his flatbread and popping it into his mouth. ‘I am merely helping out Dom as one friend to another – I don’t think it was me who was waxing poetic about the “team structure” and a “feeling of home”.’

‘Bah,’ said Eames, biting into a falafel with a little more force than was strictly necessary. 

It was a pleasant evening. Arthur was good company and he was as good as his word. He told Eames all about the hill and the cacti (there had been a toboggan involved, and also more booze than an American teenager should have access to) and, in return, Eames handed over his phone and let Arthur delete the incriminating clip. 

All in all the evening went well, right up until they left the restaurant. 

‘I still think it’s a shame to deprive the world of your singing,’ he said, scanning the street for a cab. ‘It’s not ever man who can sing Abba with such convicti-’

The rest of the sentence was lost as Arthur put his hand on Eames’s shoulder and spun him round before kissing him. 

To say that Eames was shocked was something of an understatement, but he kissed Arthur back, let his hands slide into Arthur’s hair and he licked into Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur moaned, and Eames…

Eames pushed Arthur away – not hard and not far, but the intent was there. 

Arthur’s forehead wrinkled. 

‘You don’t want this?’ he asked, and Eames felt his conviction fade, but…

‘This is wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur – I really am, but there is someone else.’ 

Arthur took a step back, and nodded curtly. 

‘No need to explain,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have…’

Eames caught his arm. 

‘Arthur, no. It’s not like that. Give me a chance to explain?’ For a moment he didn’t think Arthur would, but then Arthur relaxed infinitesimally and nodded. 

‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘You can entertain me with your tale of what it’s like while we walk back.’ 

‘It’s not _like_ anything,’ Eames said, settling into step beside Arthur. ‘I mean, I don’t even know who it is, but…’

‘It’s the letter writer.’ Arthur sounded amazed, and he stopped, forcing Eames to turn round. ‘The secret letter writer you mentioned in Italy.’ 

Eames nodded, his face a perfect picture of misery. 

‘I know. It’s stupid, but he knows me so well, and I can’t bear to throw that away, without even giving myself a chance to find out who he is.’

Arthur huffed a laugh and Eames waved a hand at him. 

‘Please, Arthur. I know just how stupid I am being here, but,’ he pulled a hand through his hair. ‘Do you know how long it is since someone has pursued me? Actually me? Not just the person I was pretending to be?’ 

He thought Arthur would argue, but he didn’t. He just stood there with an indecipherable look on his face, before smiling slightly shakily at Eames. 

‘I understand,’ he said at last. ‘I really do, Eames.’ He clapped Eames on the shoulder. ‘Come on, no point getting hung up about this. I offered, it’s not the right time for you. There’re no hard feelings.’

‘Mates?’ Eames asked, relief warring with disappointment in his chest. 

‘Of course,’ Arthur said, as he started to walk back to the hotel. ‘Hell, how am I meant to keep the others in line without you there?’

oOo

If Eames had worried that this might have made things awkward, he was wrong.

Arthur didn’t seem to have taken offence at all and there wasn’t even the faltering sense of unease that might be expected to accompany rejection. If anything he seemed amused, but he refrained from teasing and Eames found himself following Arthur’s example and easing back into their friendly banter. 

Eames was still unsure why he had rejected Arthur. It had seemed so clear at the time, but as the days passed and he started to relax in Arthur’s friendship (and yeah, there was no escaping the fact now – they were definitely friends) his certainty ebbed. 

oOo

Eames

I wonder... if I had remembered to sign my name to that first letter, would I be feeling the way I am right now? A year of one sided conversation with you has turned me introspective, and though I imagine your response to them, I have no way of knowing for sure. 

So what do we do, Eames? What do I do? I think I have fallen in love with you – but where do we go from here? 

You should probably ignore this letter. Introspection is making me melancholy it seems. I promise my spirits will have recovered by your birthday. 

x

Eames was profoundly grateful that this letter had been left in his room. Arthur had managed to distract Ariadne before, but he couldn’t have borne her teasing right at that moment.

He had respected the boundaries the writer had set – but it would be an easy matter to find out who he was and to confront him. 

Doubts banished, Eames decided that a year was enough. He would look for his writer, this man who knew him so well, as soon as the job was done. 

oOo

1 September, 2012, 10.28  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Well, you’re looking happier anyway

Have you heard Cobb’s latest? Apparently he thinks that we have extracted as much as we can with the mark working with us – he wants to do a surprise extraction to see if he can get to the root of some of those ‘process issues’ they’re forever discussing. 

 

1 September, 2012, 10.43  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I am, thank you

Oh, good God. Guerrilla therapy? I am sure this can only end well...

 

1 September, 2012, 10.45  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Anything you’d care to share

Well you’ll be the first to know – we are on the detail to get him under. 

 

1 September, 2012, 10.46  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I made a decision to live life on the edge

Of course we are – how could I ever doubt it? When and where?

 

1 September, 2012, 10.48  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You know where I am if you need backup 

His house. 23.00. Day after tomorrow. 

oOo

_I should have known this job was going too smoothly_ , Eames thought as he rounded the corner at speed and his socked feet nearly skidded out from under him. Next to him Arthur was nearly breathless with laughter, and Eames only managed to save him from the Jaws of Terror by swinging him bodily onto the island in the kitchen before leaping up next to him. 

He fully expected Arthur to push him off again as punishment for taking liberties, but when he looked away from the devil dog’s eyes Arthur was very still, all traces of laughter banished, and a flush staining his cheeks. 

‘You didn’t tell me he had a dog,’ Eames said. 

‘He usually doesn’t,’ Arthur said, looking down at the dog. The island wasn’t large and his balance looked precarious, and Eames slid his arm round Arthur’s waist to steady him. 

‘Well, what _is_ that then?’ he asked, uncomfortably aware of how Arthur’s body was pressed to his. 

Arthur parted his lips, and Eames was unsure if his intention was to reply to the question, or to kiss Eames… He certainly wasn’t sure which he would prefer right now, but they were interrupted by a cough.

‘Guys!’ The mark was sleepy, but still managed his trade-mark smile. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know we had anything planned?’

‘We don’t,’ Arthur said. ‘Cobb thought an unplanned extraction would give us a different view to feed back to you.’

‘Oh, excellent idea!’ The mark sounded genuinely pleased. ‘You were thwarted by Fluffy though.’ 

‘You could say that.’ Eames shuddered as the dog’s eyes seemed to glow red. ‘He’s certainly an effective guard dog.’ 

The mark laughed and picked up the Yorkshire Terrier. 

‘Nonsense,’ he said, ruffling the scruff of the dog’s neck. ‘Fluffy wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

oOo

Eames

So, a week until your birthday. You’re not fond of it I know, but I keep remembering that this marks a year of these letters. 

I’ve got you a gift, old man, though it doesn’t compare to last year’s. Still, at least it isn’t socks. You have a year or two left before those become a viable present. 

I wonder what you do with these letters when you’ve read them? Somehow I doubt you wrap them in red ribbon and keep them under the bed. I would give even odds that you burn this one – I have never known such a good looking man to be so sensitive about his age.

x

It said much for Eames’s feelings that even this missive made him smile. He read it a couple of times, idly scanning it for clues to the writer’s identity, before folding it and tucking it into his wallet with all the rest.

oOo

10 September, 2012, 16.25  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: I have a cunning plan

So, Arthur, we have a week left on the job, and it’s like the end of the school year in here. I think we need to keep people occupied… The devil makes work for idle hands and all that. 

 

10 September, 2012, 16.43  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: As cunning as a plan made by a fox?

I had noticed. I don’t know whether to be more afraid of Yusuf’s experiments or Ariadne’s destructive streak. 

What is this plan of yours? 

 

10 September, 2012, 16.50  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: A fox who is a professor of cunning

Team building, darling. Capture the flag to be more specific. 

I say we take it in turns to be the dreamer and the team have to go under and capture some secret that only we know – something trivial of course. Whoever captures the most ‘flags’ wins the tournament. We could even have some sort of prize? 

 

10 September, 2012, 16.55  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: … There is really very little I can say to that

Not a bad idea at all, Eames. Suggest it to the motley crew – god knows we need to keep them out of trouble while Cobb is locked away with that director of his. Trying to keep him out of trouble is a lost cause. 

oOo

In retrospect, Eames should have been more alarmed by Arthur’s easy compliance and smug smile when the team found out. In retrospect, Eames should have remembered that Arthur had been responsible for militarising most of the powerful minds of their generation. 

_Hindsight_ , thought Eames, as he ran from a couple of determined velociraptors, _is a very exact science_.

Ariadne’s dream had been unique. It wasn’t often that one encountered a Penrose Piglet in The Hundred Acre Wood, but Arthur had taken it in his stride and walked off with the ‘flag’ (in this case a shell from the beach next to the house Ariadne had grown up on). Yusuf’s dream had been more… psychedelic. It was hard to think of another word to describe a reconstruction of the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine made entirely of jelly. 

Arthur, on the other hand… 

Eames was forced from his reflections by the need to kick a dinosaur several times in the head before scrabbling on. 

He was fairly sure he was the only one left alive in the dream now. Ariadne had crumpled in the first five minutes when she had been foolish enough to open a box. To be fair, she hadn’t expected it to contain a chainsaw-wielding jack-in-the-box, but this was Arthur’s mind and she should have been more careful. Eames paused to throw a grenade up at a circling pterodactyl, and covered his face against the fallout of _bits_. He hadn’t seen Yusuf die, but since the last Eames had seen him, he had been pursued by a troupe of cannibal Girl Guides, he wouldn’t bet on his survival. Especially given the way Yusuf had been shrieking.

Now there was only Eames left. Eames and the dinosaurs who seemed determined to rip the clothes from his back before they ate him. Jogging on, like an extra in the x-rated remake of Jurassic Park, Eames reflected sombrely on what Arthur’s subconscious was trying to tell him. 

He thought he’d lost the velociraptors for now – running round the outskirts of the Guide camp (while averting his eyes from the heads on stakes) had seen to that, but there was still the small matter of the pterodactyls, the T-Rex, and those small ones that he suspected would tear their way in through his stomach and eat him from the inside out. 

He dodged into a cave and gave serious consideration to killing himself now and letting Arthur win this one.

He was actually on the verge of shooting himself when he noticed the silk tie. He would probably have missed it altogether if it hadn’t been for the colours. Eames frowned. What on earth was a Patrick McMurray tie doing in Arthur’s dream? He stepped forward to investigate but his foot banged into a box on the ground. The tie forgotten, he bent down and retrieved the battered toy soldier the box contained. 

He laughed, uncaring of whether the dinosaurs heard him now – he had won, he had beaten Arthur on his own territory. 

His brief moment of triumph was cut short when he was disembowelled by a cave bear. 

oOo

14 September, 2012, 11.02  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Discretion is the better part of valour 

I take it you don’t want the others knowing it’s your birthday tomorrow?

 

14 September, 2012, 11.04  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: You’re too kind

No, I’d really rather not. 

Congratulations on the tournament by the way.

 

14 September, 2012, 11.30  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Your secret’s safe with me

I would call it a well-won draw. Congratulations to you, Eames. 

oOo

Arthur was as good as his word: there were no cakes, no balloons, nothing except Arthur making him a perfect cup of tea and leaving it on his desk next to a scone. Eames had smiled his gratitude and toasted Arthur with the cup, and though Arthur had turned away, Eames had still caught the smile that lit his face. 

Nonetheless, Eames escaped as quickly as he could. He needed to pack. The job was nearly over, and he thought he might return to Edinburgh after this. 

He opened the door to his room and there, not unexpected but still a surprise, was an envelope and a carefully wrapped package.

Eames

Happy anniversary, I suppose. 

Please accept the small token of my esteem I have left for you, but most of all, please accept my thanks. 

The past year has been an unparalleled gift for me, and nothing I could give you could match that, but the enclosed reminded me of you and I hope you like it as much as I think you will. 

Yours,

x

Smiling fondly, Eames opened the present, but he stilled as the wrapping paper fell away.

Sitting in his hands was a Patrick McMurray tie. 

oOo

15 September, 2012, 22.21  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: So

Anything you’d like to tell me, Arthur?

 

15 September, 2012, 22.45  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: Is this because I didn’t wish you happy birthday?

Cobb is established again. Our work here is done. The money will be in your bank on Monday – I presume you still prefer the account in the Caymen Islands?

 

15 September, 2012, 23.01  
From: simplyeames@gmail.com  
To: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: No. Think again, Arthur

That would be fine, but no. I was referring to something else. 

 

15 September, 2012, 23.26  
From: goodinasuit@gmail.com  
To: simplyeames@gmail.com  
Subject: Re: I’m sorry…

But I have no idea what you’re talking about, Eames. 

oOo

Eames slipped out the next morning, leaving before any of the others had woken. He’d emailed Cobb, and he’d email the others when he hit Scotland. For Arthur he had left a thank you card – a reproduction of the Sargent that waited for him above his bed. 

_Arthur_

_It’s belated, I know, and maybe I should have sought you out before, but thank you._

_The past year has been … one of the happiest of my life, and you have given me more than I can hope to repay._

_Will you give me a chance to try though? I would like you to have a chance to see that first present._

_With love_

_x_

_(What? You thought I would sign this? Oh no, Arthur – darling. This is how we do things apparently, and who am I to argue?)_

Underneath the envelope he left a ticket to Edinburgh. 

oOo

Eames

I have honestly no idea how you found this out – I think maybe I had grown too used to you accepting the letters, unquestioning of their origin. I would swear that you hadn’t been doing any of the detective work you would have needed to work out where the letters were from – I was so careful with the postmarks and the content. 

But however you did it, you have found me out, and I am not going to insult your intelligence by pretending you are wrong. 

You know how I feel, and you are not a man who has ever deceived me – others maybe, but not me. Eames, if you can’t return my feelings then please don’t be in Edinburgh when I get there. It won’t affect our working relationship, I promise, but I couldn’t cope with rejection – not when I have laid so much in front of you.

Yours,

Arthur

Eames met him off the plane.

oOo

‘I like what you’ve done with the painting.’ Arthur sounded breathless, and Eames would think of a witty reply, he really would, but Arthur had three fingers inside him, stretching him slowly and thoroughly, and all Eames could do was moan, wanton and needy. 

His cock bounced on his stomach, leaking pre-come, and Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. 

Eames shrugged as best he could from his prone position. 

‘What can I say?’ His voice was wrecked, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. ‘ I have exquisite taste, and ngh…’ Arthur twisted his fingers with a particularly smug expression on his face. 

‘You’re certainly erudite.’ Arthur bent his head and licked the pre-come pooled on Eames’s stomach. Eames tried to push his hips up, but Arthur held him in place with one hand on his hip. ‘Oh no, Eames. You made me wait long enough,’ he bit into the soft skin of Eames’s stomach, sucking a mark there. ‘I think it’s your turn now.’ 

He pulled his fingers from Eames’s arse and pushed his legs apart, moving down the bed until he was lying between Eames’s thighs. 

‘Have you any idea what it was like?’ he asked, his breath crawling hot over the skin of Eames’s balls. ‘Watching you, with your stupid, fucking perfect lips? Mooning over whoever was writing the letters?’ 

He bit into the flesh of Eames’s inner thigh, and soothed the small hurt with his tongue. 

‘And the whole time I was there, and it was all I could do to restrain myself.’ He ran his tongue up the length of Eames’s cock, sucking gently on the foreskin before pulling back again. ‘No, Eames. I deserve this. Agreed?’ 

He paused where he was, holding Eames open, his gaze an almost tangible weight on Eames’s skin, and Eames nodded his head, shaky but willing to agree to anything that would make Arthur continue. 

Arthur smiled, but tightened his fingers where they were gripping Eames. 

‘Say it,’ he said. ‘Go on, Eames. Tell me that you’ll wait for me.’ 

‘I will,’ Eames said, reach out to grip Arthur’s shoulder. ‘God, Arthur. Anything. Just...’ 

Arthur smiled and lowered his head, holding Eames’s gaze.

‘In that case, hands above your head,’ he said. ‘And hold on to the headboard.’ 

Eames had barely tightened his grip before Arthur bent down and ran his tongue over the sensitive skin of Eames’s hole. Eames let his head fall back, curses spilling from his lips, as Arthur started working over him, meticulously taking Eames apart with every move of his tongue. 

It didn’t take long before Eames felt himself tensing, ready to come even though Arthur had barely touched his cock. He let himself have one moment, he pushed himself into Arthur’s touch, before he writhed away, putting as much distance as he could between him and Arthur. 

‘You need to stop,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Please, Arthur, or I’ll come.’ 

Arthur, bless him, pulled back and knelt up, his lips swollen and pink and his chin coated in saliva. He started to smirk, but his gaze fell on Eames’s cock, straining and leaking, and he swallowed, his eyes suddenly dark with desire. 

‘I want to fuck you,’ he said. ‘I want to push into you, Eames, and fuck you till you come for me.’

All Eames could do was nod and Arthur pulled away entirely and glanced round the room. 

‘Condoms?’ he asked, his brow furrowed.

‘What?’ Eames asked, and, yeah, he was smirking. Just a bit. ‘You’re worried I’ve been faking my blood work?’ 

Arthur looked down at him, and for a moment Eames thought he’d ask something inane, like was Eames sure, but instead he leant forward and positioned the head of his cock. 

Eames bucked, trying in vain to impale himself, but Arthur stilled him with a hand on his stomach. 

‘You said you’d wait.’ He held Eames’s gaze until Eames nodded, until Eames parted his lips to answer, and then Arthur pushed forward, slow and steady. Eames could do nothing but breathe into the burn, forcing himself to relax, until Arthur was completely inside him. 

‘You’re okay?’ Arthur rubbed his thumb over the ridge of Eames’s hipbone, and Eames felt himself relaxing properly. 

‘Yeah,’ he managed. ‘Yeah, c’mon...’ 

Arthur withdrew slowly, his hands still gentle on Eames’s hips, but then he snapped his hips forward and Eames groaned as Arthur started fucking him, deep and hard and perfect. 

With his hands stretched out over his head, his movement was limited, but he could undulate his body, opening himself to Arthur as much as he could, taking his pleasure in the slap of his cock against his abs, and the rub and stretch of Arthur’s prick inside him. 

And it didn’t take long. Arthur might well have been waiting, but Eames had been waiting too. In the end it was the way Arthur looked that pushed Eames over the edge; the look in his eyes as he thrust deeply into Eames and the swell of his cock as he came triggered Eames’s orgasm more surely than the sweaty grip Arthur took on his cock. 

Arthur kissed him afterwards, seemingly uncaring of the come cooling on Eames’s skin, even though it smeared between them. Instead his whole focus was on Eames’s mouth as he bit at Eames’s lips and sucked kisses to the sensitive skin. It was Eames who dragged a t-shirt from where it lay on the floor to wipe them clean and covered them with the duvet. 

Arthur pressed close to him, more generous with his embraces than Eames had ever imagined he could be. He waited until Arthur stilled, wrapped round Eames like they would never be parted. 

‘I love you,’ he said, kissing the skin on Arthur’s temple. Arthur pressed into the caress with a wordless noise, tightening his hold. ‘Just so you know, I love you too.’

‘I know.’ Arthur seemed to be directing his words into Eames’s armpit, and his voice was heavy with sleep. ‘D’you think I’m blind, Eames?’

Eames wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Arthur bit him softly until he had his full attention again. 

‘Sleep now,’ Arthur said. ‘Talk tomorrow. You can take me out and show me your city.’

‘You’ll complain about the cold,’ Eames said, though the idea of sleep was hugely attractive. 

‘Then you can warm me up,’ Arthur said, and Eames smiled.

‘That’s the best offer I’ve ever had from a visitor,’ he said, his fondness evident in every syllable. 

‘A visitor?’ Arthur sounded quizzical. ‘Is that what I am?’

Eames felt his heart leap in his chest. 

‘No,’ he said, letting Arthur’s hair muffle his words slightly. ‘Not a visitor at all, actually.’

‘What am I then?’ Arthur said, and Eames could feel his smile against his skin.

‘Mine,’ Eames said, low enough that he almost hoped Arthur couldn’t hear. 

‘S’good,’ Arthur said, sleepy and smug. ‘Makes it mutual then.’

 

oOo

Cobb

Happy Christmas! 

Hope next year is a good one for you,

Arthur & Eames

_PS Arthur says there’s a job in January. You in?_


End file.
